Knights in Rusted Armor
by Doc Stewart
Summary: Sequel to 'Inner Demons'. Clues about Willow's true heritage have begun to appear. Most recent: vignettes with Xander, Tara, and Anya.
1. Celebration

Knights in Rusted Armor  
  
A BTVS Fanfiction by Doc Stewart  
  
Sequel to "Inner Demons." Reading "Inner Demons" (http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=893080) is a prerequisite to understanding this series.  
  
Description: Willow has won her sanity, but there are plenty of battles left to fight. And what's wrong with Buffy?  
  
Copyright: All characters copyright of Mutant Enemy; I'm just borrowing them under the good graces of ME and Fox. Original story copyright 2002.  
  
Distribution: Please ask first (dr_stewart@hotmail.com), but I will generally grant permission to redistribute this story, with proper credits.  
  
Rating: PG-13, and on the harder end of this rating. Contains violence, depictions of psychological trauma, some implied gore, and significant "adult themes."  
  
Spoilers: through end of S6. AU with respect to S7.  
  
Special Notes: This story is a series of episodes rather than a single novelette. Consequently, it will be updated much less frequently than "Inner Demons" was, about every one to two weeks.  
  
Special Spoiler: By popular demand, at some point there will be an episode entitled "Dude, Where's My Cheese?" (Either that or an episode entitled "Dude, Where's My Pants?" depending on popular preference.)  
  
Comments and criticism welcome; flames will be placed in the circular file.  
  
* * *  
  
1. Celebration  
  
Rupert Giles:  
  
She's leaving now.  
  
The few possessions she has in England have been neatly packed into a few small suitcases. She's been given a clean bill of health to return to Sunnydale. She's been given a license to teleport to Sunnydale by the members of the coven.  
  
"Are you sure you aren't coming? Even for a brief visit? I'm sure they want to see you," she asks.  
  
"No."  
  
She nods. She knows why, knows that someone must stay here. Officially, to help with the Council's ongoing investigation into the murder of Tara McClay, the possession-by-artifact of Willow Rosenberg, and the ensuing attempt to use Miss Rosenberg to destroy the planet. Unofficially, to watch the Council and the coven. She knows that the official investigation has made an exceptionally impressive lack of progress. She also knows that the Council and the coven almost certainly have more than one traitor between them. I pray that the corruption does not run too wide and too deep.  
  
"Can you check my circle before I leave? Hate to teleport to Fiji by accident. Not that I don't like Fiji, because it would be nice and vacationy, but, you know."  
  
I look at the ornately drawn circle on the floor. I examine the lines and inscriptions in it carefully, but just to appease her. It's flawless. I knew it was the second I saw it.  
  
"It is barely acceptable, even for a rank amateur like yourself. However, it does meet the coven's criteria of randomly depositing the caster within a 200-mile radius of the target destination."  
  
She frowns. Then I see her start to realize that I'm joking, but she's still not sure.  
  
"Willow... I'm kidding. It's better than those in most magic books. Not that you even need a circle, anyway."  
  
She smiles. She does not laugh, though. She never laughs.  
  
"Well, then, I guess I'd better go. I'll call you when I get there." She embraces me and kisses me on the cheek. "I'll see you in a few weeks, okay, Giles? I'll miss you."  
  
I nod. I will miss her.  
  
She walks into the center of the circle. She closes her eyes. There is a flash, and she is gone.  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy Summers:  
  
It's an early Saturday morning for me, almost 9 a.m. I'm almost never up this early, especially if I'm exhausted from a hard Friday night patrol. Lucky me, I got to stake five fledglings and a journeyman last night. I should have difficulty keeping my eyes open.  
  
Instead, I'm completely wired. Even though I hardly slept at all last night.  
  
It's 8:57 a.m. in the morning.  
  
She called two nights ago, and said she was coming back to Sunnydale. She said that Giles wouldn't be able to come with her, as he was busy with the ongoing investigation into who or what had tried to destroy her, and the rest of the world in the process. She also said we wouldn't need to go to the airport to pick her up. She said that airports and long flights would provide too much opportunity to whomever is trying to destroy her, and would be too dangerous, especially to her fellow passengers. She said that she was going to teleport to Sunnydale instead, and would be appearing on the doorstep of the Magic Box at precisely 9 a.m. our time.  
  
I asked her if that was dangerous. I didn't add that I meant dangerous both physically and psychically. She said it wasn't, "on both counts." She said she'd been getting plenty of practice. I wasn't sure I wanted to know more details, so I didn't ask.  
  
It's 8:58 in the morning.  
  
Besides the logistics, we hardly said anything to each other. You think she might have said something more. I mean, it might have been nice, considering.  
  
It's not like I haven't done my part. I used the bracelet she sent me. In full. I lived through exactly what my sister lived through. I felt the fear when Bad Willow first pulled Dawn into the hell that Willow's mind had become. I felt the sorrow and frustration Dawn felt when repeatedly failing to reach Good Willow. I felt the pain when the bullets hit Dawn's chest. I felt the shock when Bad Willow described Willow's secret attraction to me. I felt the fear and despair when Bad Willow explained in horrifying detail exactly why she wanted my sister dead - but the sudden flash of insight and hope as well. And, yes, I felt the pride and joy when Willow finally managed to face and destroy her inner demons. Both of them.  
  
You think I might have said something more.  
  
It's 8:59 in the morning.  
  
We're throwing a party for her. It's early in the morning, but we're all pretty energetic. We've got banners on the walls, with ornate calligraphy. Dawn made them. She's done nothing but look impatiently at her watch for the past half an hour.  
  
Xander's practically on fire waiting for his best friend since kindergarten to return. I asked him if he wanted to use the bracelet. He refused, and I'm not sure why. Maybe he's not ready to accept the truth.  
  
Even Anya seems reasonably happy that Willow is returning. She's only made one snide comment about when she'll be paid for all the damage Willow did.  
  
And there's Mr. William Gray. He's somehow managing to hold himself together, broad smile plastered on face, shaking only slightly. I can only look at him briefly, can only check on him once in a while. Otherwise, I'll start crying. I am willing to cry, on this Saturday morning. But only for her, once she gets here.  
  
It's 9:00 in the morning.  
  
For a few seconds, there is silence. Then I see a flash outside the door. A few seconds later, I here a soft knock.  
  
She's home. At last.  
  
* * *  
  
Willow Rosenberg:  
  
The first few minutes back were a complete blur. Hugs and tears and more hugs and chaos.  
  
It was so good to see Dawnie again, for real this time. I started to cry when I held her. My girl. Goddess, I have no idea how I possibly deserve her. But there she was, in my arms.  
  
It was good to see Xander again, too. Even if I did think he'd have to be surgically removed.  
  
As for Buffy. I started to say something. Really, I did. But she just shushed me and told me it was okay, I was home now, that everything would be okay. So we just held each other and cried. It wasn't a bad start.  
  
So now they're throwing a Welcome Back to Sunnyhell celebration for me. It's nice. It has music and banners and everything.  
  
Of course, it's hard to tell what they're celebrating. One of the banners says "Welcome Home, Willow!" I think a few other banners might have been more appropriate. Maybe something like "It's Sure Great You Didn't End the World, Willow!" or "We've Forgiven You For Skinning Warren Like an Old Chicken and Trying to Kill us All, Willow!" Now those are some real banners.  
  
Another banner they have up says "It's Great to Have You Back, Willow!" This really should be taken down. Sorry. It's a complete lie, in two ways. First, the person I was before is gone. She told Anya she wasn't coming back. She was right.  
  
Second, the last person they want back is who I was before. Do they really want back Miss Twenty Seconds from Being the Big Bad? Didn't think so. She's gone, forever. Let her rest in peace.  
  
Or did she come back? Is she really me? I have her memories and her body, after all. It gets confusing. I'm going to have such a hard time explaining it to them. Especially since I can't explain it to myself.  
  
Of course, the guests at this party are displaying signs of their own. Let's see.  
  
Dawn: "I missed you." She has the best banner.  
  
Anya: "I'm surprised to find myself glad to have you back. When will you pay me for all the damage you caused to the Magic Box? Did you know that the insurance company won't pay for the magical books and equipment you destroyed, because they think it's all a big fraud?" Yeah, I missed you too, Anyanka. Just tell me when to write the check.  
  
Xander: "You're back! Everything is back the way it was! I love you so much! Did I tell you that I saved the world? Really! Me! I did! Yes, me!" I love you too, Xander. And yes, I know you saved the world. Don't get cocky.  
  
Oh, yeah. And you think I came back just the way I was. Sorry, Xan. This isn't going to be easy. For either of us.  
  
Spike: Mr. William Gray is too distraught to have a banner, although he's been trying to put up a good act. He has a soul now, and everything that comes with it. He got it for Buffy. Wow. Hard to know what to think about that. I know Buffy certainly doesn't know what to think about it. It shouldn't be possible. Of course, we deal with the impossible all the time here in Sunnyhell.  
  
And then there's Buffy. On the surface, she seems incredibly friendly and happy, and glad to see me. But her real banner is written in invisible ink. I really don't know what she's thinking.  
  
Actually, that's not true. I can make out a little bit here and there. I don't like what I'm reading. She's reminding me too much of someone I used to know, who hid behind a happy face, too. Me.  
  
As for me, I really don't know what banner I'm displaying to the people at this party. If I had to choose one, though, it would be "Construction Zone Ahead."  
  
* * *  
  
Gryvier (a master vampire who serves... someone):  
  
So you're back.  
  
Did you think you could get away with it, little witch-demon? Did you think you could rub our faces in hydra manure without having to worry about the consequences? That we'd just let bygones be bygones? Or that we'd all kneel before you out of fear, despite our cravings for vengeance?  
  
No. Of course not. You didn't think about it at all. You didn't think about what it would mean to humiliate our master as you did. All you cared about were your own selfish needs. It was so very much in line with the traits of your damnable House. You may not know who you are, but you still played the part perfectly. And that's what made it the most galling.  
  
At least we managed to hurt you in the first rematch. We took away your little whore for good. We made you join us in evil, permanently staining your oh-so-squeaky-clean claws. We sent you to your own private hell.  
  
But yes, you escaped, and destroyed our mole. We spent decades cultivating her and turning her. The time, investment, and care involved was extraordinary. Having our mole appointed the Leader of that coven was one of our greatest achievements. Through her, we almost had unlimited power over this pathetic dimension. And now she's gone. You destroyed her in a few minutes. Leaving nothing but more hydra manure.  
  
So we'll have to call it a draw.  
  
This time, we'll do it right. My master will see your House fall.  
  
* * *  
  
Next: "Rules" 


	2. Rules

2. Rules  
  
Dawn Summers was tired. She was also frustrated.  
  
She had been awake most of the previous night waiting for Willow's return. She had spent most of that morning impatiently waiting for Willow, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Then she had spent the rest of that morning celebrating Willow's return.  
  
The afternoon had been spent helping Willow move into Xander's apartment, much to Dawn's chagrin. No matter how much Dawn pleaded, Willow insisted that she needed to live with Xander, at least for a few weeks. The witch said that the room she had shared with Tara was still too painful a reminder of everything that had happened, and that she needed some time to get her bearings back. She also said that there were "some icky medical- type issues that I don't want you and Buffy to get involved with." The logical part of Dawn's mind could empathize with all of that, but still.  
  
With the direct approach not working, Dawn had tried to enlist allies, starting with Xander. But Xander was no help at all - he was practically giddy when Willow asked if she could stay in his apartment for a few weeks.  
  
Worse, Dawn didn't even have her sister's support. Buffy had agreed with Willow. That part especially galled Dawn. Didn't her sister see that Willow was practically family now? That she needed to be with them? That she wasn't all bad and evil anymore, that she'd been fixed? (Dawn re- reminded herself that she had personally seen to Willow Rosenberg's redemption.)  
  
Or perhaps not. Dawn had detected a bit of coldness in Buffy towards Willow, tearful embrace aside. The younger Summers would see about that.  
  
In any case, tired though she was, if Willow wasn't coming back to Dawn, Dawn could go to her. She knew Willow would be spending this first evening in Xander's apartment alone, as Xander had been called away on construction business he couldn't get out of. Willow had claimed that a night alone was perfectly fine, and actually "desirable - it will be nice to get a little privacy," but Dawn was sure she'd be lonely. A surprise visit would be just what Willow would want.  
  
And so it was that at precisely 7:26 pm on a Saturday evening, Dawn stood outside Xander's apartment, and knocked on the door. "Hi, Willow!" she yelled, cheerily. "Surprise! It's me, Dawn!"  
  
There was a pause, then some sudden commotion behind the door. There was no direct response. Dawn was puzzled.  
  
She knocked on the door. Louder. "Hey, Willow, it's me! Dawn! Can't I come in?"  
  
A few seconds later, a voice answered. It sounded sort of like Willow, but had a dark undertone to it. "Dawn? Is that you? You shouldn't be here. Please leave. Now."  
  
A surge of panic shot through Dawn as she remembered when she had last heard a similar voice. Dawn quickly cast a door-opening spell obtained by surreptitiously watching Willow a year earlier, and burst into Xander's apartment.  
  
Willow sat at the kitchen table, her head suddenly turning towards Dawn. A hypodermic needle filled with an oily black fluid was sticking out of Willow's left arm. The witch's eyes were jet black.  
  
Dawn opened her mouth to scream.  
  
"Don't scream," said Willow.  
  
Dawn stifled the scream.  
  
"If you insist on being here, close the door behind you. Now."  
  
Dawn did.  
  
"Sit at the table."  
  
Dawn did.  
  
"Now. Don't move or say anything for the next thirty seconds. If you do, I will make you stop. Do you understand?"  
  
Dawn nodded.  
  
And with that, Willow shifted her attention away from Dawn to the hypodermic needle in her left arm. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and slowly pressed the plunger down. The oily fluid disappeared into one of Willow's veins.  
  
Within seconds, arcs of energy shot across Willow's arm, and then spread across her entire body. Willow began convulsing.  
  
Dawn's brain sent out an impulse to rush to Willow, which was quickly suppressed. [Don't,] she heard in her mind.  
  
A few seconds later and the convulsions stopped. Willow took a few deep breaths and opened her eyes. They were green.  
  
"Why are you here, Dawn?" asked Willow, in a soft but controlled voice.  
  
"I wanted to be with you," said Dawn. "This is the last thing I thought I'd see." She felt herself getting angry, although she managed to keep herself under control. "Willow, I thought that after everything we'd been through, the least you could do would be to avoid dark magic."  
  
Willow stared at her blankly, then smiled. "What, do you think I've just fallen off the magical wagon, Dawn? Hmm?"  
  
Dawn nodded.  
  
"I told you in one of my letters that I have to do a lot to control the dark energies my own body creates."  
  
"Then what the hell are you doing injecting yourself with more? That's the last thing on earth you should be doing!" Dawn yelled. She quickly looked away. "I'm sorry, Willow, I didn't mean that..."  
  
"Yes, you did," interrupted Willow. "But it's okay. Watch me and learn. Again, don't move or say anything for the next few minutes."  
  
Dawn nodded. Willow carefully replaced the hypodermic needle in a black velvet case, and pulled a small pin out of the same case. She pricked her arm with the pin, and transferred a drop of blood from the head of the pin to a tiny vial. Then, she pulled out three small glass jars containing different-colored powders. Three times, she used a small spoon to dole a tiny amount of the powder into the vial with the drop of blood. Each time, the vial glowed a different color, first a medium red, then a medium green, then a medium blue. Each time, Willow carefully compared the color of the vial to the colors on a set of cards spread out on a table, and wrote down the number next to the color that most closely matched the vial. When she had used all the powders, Willow spent a few moments working out what Dawn saw was a weighted average: "(5R + 4G + 3B) / 12," to be precise. Willow seemed to be happy with whatever the final result was, as she relaxed a little.  
  
"You see, Dawn, I do these chemical tests on a blood sample, compare the colors, and work out this formula, and I get this number. It's all about the numbers. Right now it's at 93, which is okay. The rule is that it needs to be between 50 and 150. If it gets below 50, I'm hypo with respect to the dark magics. This means I'll start craving dark energies, possibly uncontrollably. Like before. That's not good."  
  
Dawn nodded.  
  
"So, right before you walked in, I was at 41. That's because I burned a lot of energy teleporting to Sunnydale. So I needed to inject myself with some of this black crap, which, as you figured out, is purified dark energy."  
  
"Oh." Willow heard Dawn breathe a sigh of relief. "But... you can't walk into a drugstore and buy dark magic. Don't you have to buy it on the black market? Isn't it incredibly dangerous?"  
  
"No," said Willow. "Because all these vials really came from me. Most of the time, the number isn't below 50 - it's over 150. That means I'm hyper with respect to the dark magics, which means dark energies are building up in my body. If they get too high for too long, they'll start poisoning me, especially my brain, and..."  
  
"That's really not good," said Dawn. She shuddered, remembering all too well the events of the past few months.  
  
"Yeah. When that happens, I have to lance the excess energy from my body. That involves using what's sort of a magical suction cup to draw most of the excess to a single part of my body, usually my arm. Then I slice my arm open with this specially treated knife, and let the black juice drip into one of these vials. If you burst in on me tomorrow night, you might even see it."  
  
Dawn gasped. "Wow. Doesn't that hurt?"  
  
"Yes. But the pain sort of helps to clear the mind, actually. Not like I haven't seen worse."  
  
Dawn put her head down. Willow shouldn't have to do that to herself. It was not fair. Not that anything ever was in Sunnydale, but still...  
  
Dawn was interrupted by the sound of Willow's voice. "Why are you here, Dawnie?"  
  
"I told you. I wanted to be with you. I mean, I haven't seen you in two months. Four months, actually, depending on how you count. I was hoping to have a sleepover. Just the two of us."  
  
Willow seemed surprised.  
  
"Yes, really," said Dawn. "Unless you'd rather be by yourself."  
  
"No," said Willow, hurriedly. "I'm just a little surprised, that's all."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because..." Willow took a deep breath... "because of everything that happened, especially two months ago..."  
  
"Willow, I told you not to apologize. Why can't you take 'I forgive you' for an answer?"  
  
Willow smiled. "Okay. But does Buffy..."  
  
"No. I wasn't sure she'd approve, and I really don't care."  
  
Willow frowned. "If you're going to stay tonight, I'd really rather you called Buffy. I don't want her to worry. Please. For me."  
  
Dawn frowned, but picked up her cell phone, and dialed. "Hi, Buffy, it's me... I'm fine... I'm over at Xander's with Willow... she's fine, too... Say, Buffy, can I stay overnight with Willow? Please?" A look of anger suddenly crossed Dawn's face. "Yes, Buffy. It will be - perfectly - okay to be with Willow... Yes, I'm sure. I'm really, really sure. Thanks. See you tomorrow." She hung up.  
  
"She doesn't trust me, does she, Dawn?"  
  
"No, and it really pisses me off."  
  
"It's the reasonable thing to do."  
  
"I don't care. She should have some trust, especially now. It's not just you. I'm not sure she trusts anyone at all. But it's not like she doesn't know exactly what happened. She used the chain you sent her, after all. I found her sobbing on the couch afterwards, saying 'I'm so sorry, Willow,' over and over."  
  
Willow was taken aback. [I had no idea she'd feel that way,] Willow thought.  
  
"Of course, a few hours later, and it was back to happy, cheery Buffy again. She's been so relentlessly upbeat and take-charge since... well since last May, it's scary. She claims she had an epiphany about how great it was to be alive. I'm not so sure."  
  
Willow nodded.  
  
"But I don't want to talk about Buffy anymore. Instead... could you just hold me?"  
  
Willow did, tears streaming down her cheeks.  
  
* * *  
  
Willow Rosenberg and Dawn Summers stretched out on the couch, following the end of an old MASH rerun. Willow clicked off the television. She took a deep breath.  
  
"I need to apologize to you, at least once," said Willow.  
  
Dawn's eyes rolled backwards.  
  
"Dawn - I know. But please. It's partly for me, I admit it. The one thing I've had the most trouble with is admitting what I tried to do to you and why. So the psychiatrists made it a condition of my returning to Sunnydale that I tell you why I wanted to destroy you, and apologize."  
  
Dawn sighed. "I don't think I'm wearing a collar, but if you insist. Go ahead."  
  
"Well, see Dawn - the thing about me was that - um, okay - I secretly hated myself. Completely. I hated myself when I thought I was a worthless and unlovable little girl who couldn't be a real Scooby rather than just get in the way, and couldn't even be a real nerd. I hated myself even more when I found out that I was really a demon. So I let the dark magic build up in my body after I caused that car accident with you. It was so much easier to lie to myself that I was a magic addict then face the truth that I was really a demon who was creating her own dark energies as she matured."  
  
"Then, when Tara died in my arms, I collapsed. She had been my last defense against myself. When she died, I had nothing left. But I couldn't deal with myself... so my personality exploded."  
  
"Yeah, I'm familiar with that part," said Dawn. "But what does this have to do with why you wanted to kill me?"  
  
"I'm getting there. Maybe a little slowly, but I'm getting there. The 'bad me' fragment took over, and she hated herself completely. She wanted to destroy herself and everything about herself. That included you." She sobbed. "So you see, Dawnie - I tried to kill you because I was so absorbed with my own self-hatred that I wanted to destroy any reflection of me - even if she was an innocent, even if she was my... own girl... I'm so sorry, Dawnie, I'm so sorry..."  
  
Dawn's face was emotionless. "Did you kill me, Willow?"  
  
"No, but..."  
  
"Didn't your evil self get destroyed in the end? Didn't your love for me and the rest of us save you, and the world for that matter?"  
  
"Yes, but..."  
  
"No buts. I forgive you, Willow. I love you."  
  
"...Really?"  
  
"Yes. And I understand you had to get this out of your system. But don't you dare ever use me as a confessional again to feel sorry for yourself."  
  
"...Okay." Willow managed to smile.  
  
"And one other thing, Willow?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You don't still hate yourself, do you?"  
  
"No. It hasn't always been easy, especially at first. But no."  
  
"Good. But you still hate who you were. Don't try to deny it, I know it's true. You had a lot of good qualities, Willow. Even before two months ago, you were a hero, and a lot of people loved you. So you have to forgive the old you - like her, even."  
  
Willow gasped. "I know, Dawn, but it's so hard... I keep trying..."  
  
"It's okay. It doesn't have to be tonight."  
  
* * *  
  
A few hours later, after a rousing set of card games, Willow and Dawn somehow got from the rules of Cincinnati poker to the rules of magic.  
  
"The rules used to be so easy," said Willow. "First, magic was Good. It helped people and killed the nasty vamps and demons. And, later on, if it was a bother for me to do something, or someone got angry or unhappy at something I did, magic was good, too." She looked down. "But that had problems."  
  
"Yeah," said Dawn.  
  
"Then magic was Bad. It was nasty and icky and addictive, and ... why I lost Tara. So I shouldn't use it. Ever. Even if I could have saved you and myself easily when the hallucinating Buffy trapped us in the basement with that demon. Even if I secretly knew that those horrible sensations in my body weren't really withdrawal symptoms. And then it was too late."  
  
"Those were really stupid rules to live by, Willow."  
  
"I didn't say they were good," said Willow. "I said they were easy."  
  
"Do you have any new rules yet? Better ones?"  
  
Willow shook her head. "Not yet. I keep trying, though. Might be close. I have this idea that you can use magic to maintain balance. You know, if magical baddies are attacking you, you can use magic to fight them. If magical baddies hurt someone, you can use magic to heal them. But if you get sick normally, or you forget a textbook, or you get in an argument with somebody, then well, you can't use magic, because that would upset the balance. And in any case, you shouldn't use more magic then you need."  
  
Dawn nodded. "That sounds better."  
  
"Yeah, but it's really hard to use in practice. I mean, I spent hours this afternoon trying to figure out if it was okay to use magic to help do a search on some feral demons Buffy has to fight. I mean, the demons are magical, but it was really possible that I might be able to find dirt on them just through regular Internet searching. So I could just use Google and my hacking skills, but that might take too long, and Buffy wouldn't have the information she needed, so that would mean I should use magic, and on and on. And after I finally decided it was okay to use some magic, there was the question of how much to use. Should I use magic for the whole search? Or use Google for the basic searching and only use magic to get through the good sites' security barriers? It got so complicated, and I spent so long debating what to do, that I ran out of time and had to use magic for the whole search. I felt really terrible."  
  
Dawn giggled. "I think you're overthinking this, Willow. You must be allowed a little freedom. I'm sure the universe won't collapse if you make the wrong decision on how to search on feral demons."  
  
"Yeah. You're probably right. I wish I could have your confidence about this sort of thing. But I'm not sure I can."  
  
* * *  
  
Willow and Dawn turned the lights out a little later, although sleep was still a few hours away.  
  
"Willow," whispered Dawn, "there's something I wanted to apologize to you for, too."  
  
"What, Dawnie? I can't imagine what it would be."  
  
"I secretly wanted so much to save the evil version of you, even though she was so, well evil. She was so much more interesting. I was so disappointed when I had to save the crying, whiny version of you."  
  
Willow smiled. "Yeah, she kinda did get in some good lines, didn't she? I still think the whole 'Who Moved My Cheese?' thing was great. That's cause she somehow got most of my intellect."  
  
"I know it's bad of me to think this, but I really thought I could reach her and save her. Especially when she told me about me."  
  
Willow sighed. "You couldn't, Dawn. She was purified hate and negativity, and couldn't possibly feel love for anyone. The few times she seemed to waver were nothing more than the other part briefly taking control. Remember that the other part could hear everything you said, too."  
  
"I know, but... I still feel like I was so close, that I could have done something more."  
  
"No. You weren't, and I'd know. Sorry, Dawnie, but you can't save everyone. That's the rule. Besides, you didn't hate the Good Willow version of me that much, did you?"  
  
"No, but... God, she never did anything but cry and whine and feel sorry for herself. I almost thought she wasn't real, or a small piece of you at most. Looking back, that's probably why I tried so hard with the evil version of you."  
  
"Yeah. She was crippled by guilt, and she didn't have much will power of her own. She could only get strength by drawing on Evil Willow, which you got her to do. So now they're both gone. As separate pieces, anyway."  
  
"Yup. It's over."  
  
"Say, Willow?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Which one of them was the real you?"  
  
Pause. "I've been thinking a lot about it. I don't know. Neither - both parts were destroyed when the current me was created. Both - they both fused to make me. I wouldn't be me without either of them. And as for whether I'm back to the same person I was before all this happened - with some big personality changes - or a new person with her memories - it's hard to even go there."  
  
"Sounds confusing."  
  
"It is. No simple rules in my case. Other than that I don't look good either in black-on-black or in charcoal fur."  
  
Dawn laughed. Willow smiled.  
  
"One last thing, Willow?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Those scales you had at the end? Are they real?"  
  
Willow nodded. "They weren't at first - they started appearing a few weeks ago."  
  
"I don't see them."  
  
"I cast a spell to hide them. It would be too hard to explain to most people."  
  
"Can you reverse it? Please?"  
  
Willow was taken aback, but carried out the request. A line of emerald scales appeared up and down her arms. Dawn began lightly tracing them. "They're so pretty," she whispered.  
  
[I never thought about it before, but I guess they are,] thought Willow.  
  
* * *  
  
Willow Rosenberg:  
  
She's asleep now. For about ten minutes, I think. We're lying on Xander's couch, and her head is closely pressed to my chest. I'm stroking her hair, and every so often I kiss her forehead. I can her breathing softly. She's actually happy to be here, in my arms.  
  
I've dreamed about this moment ever since I learned the truth about Dawnie, over a year ago. I dreamed that one day I would tell her the truth about who she was, and she would accept me, and we'd fall asleep in each other's arms like this.  
  
And every time I had this dream, it turned into a nightmare. I would tell Dawn the truth about who she was, and then she'd run off screaming and try to kill herself.  
  
The nightmare prevented me from ever telling Dawn the truth, even though it would have done so much to take away her inner pain and fear. Then the nightmare took over completely.  
  
But it's over now.  
  
Too bad there are other nightmares still out there. But I'll deal with them later. Tonight there are only sweet dreams.  
  
* * *  
  
Next: "Your Knight in Shining Armor" 


	3. Your Knight in Shining Armor

3. Your Knight in Shining Armor  
  
Author's notes: It's been months since I last updated this series. Apologies, all - work, family, and life in general have been interfering. This is the first of three new chapters, presenting vignettes between Willow and Xander, Tara, and Anya, in that order.  
  
I've also written a new story in an entirely different world, featuring a very different take on the new relationship between Willow and Kennedy. "Special K" should be appearing shortly.  
  
* * *  
  
4:30 a.m. Willow Rosenberg was having a nightmare.  
  
It was a perfect recollection of what had happened a few days after her "good" and "evil" sides had been pounded back together. A few days after she had supposedly been healed for good.  
  
She was walking in a park with Giles. Every step was still torture, but at least she was walking, and she was one person. And it was a beautiful day.  
  
A flash of color caught her eye, and she saw a patch of flowers. She smiled. She thought of how much Tara would have liked being there, being with her.  
  
Of course, Tara wasn't there. Tara would never be there again. A tear ran down Willow Rosenberg's cheek.  
  
[But maybe someday...] she thought, [maybe someday we'll be reunited...]  
  
An icy laugh ripped through her mind. [With all of your crimes, Willow? That's the last place you'll ever go. You are never going to see her again.]  
  
[No...]  
  
[Besides, if she's even bothering to look down on you, it's only in disgust. She hates you.]  
  
[No...]  
  
[You killed in her name...] The icy laugh turned into a roar.  
  
[No!]  
  
Willow collapsed to the ground, as a rivulet of black oil flowed out of her mouth. She felt something inside her break, and felt herself losing consciousness. With her last bit of energy, she screamed...  
  
* * *  
  
She woke up. Xander was holding her.  
  
It was so much better than the last time, when she slowly regained consciousness amidst a sea of scared and worried faces. Giles had softly told her that the dark magic had built up again and poisoned her mind. That it had taken emergency psychic surgery to drain the dark energy, and that they did the best they could to fix the damage to her psyche. That they had almost lost her, and if they had lost her they might have lost all of London in the ensuing explosion. That he was "so sorry, Willow, but drastic measures would have to be taken." That very afternoon, even though she could barely sit up, Willow sliced her body open for the first time, watching the black oil drain out of where blood should have been.  
  
So very much better to wake up with Xander.  
  
* * *  
  
7:30 a.m. Breakfast.  
  
Xander Harris was engrossed in his corn flakes when he heard a cell phone ring. Willow removed the ringing cell phone from her purse, and answered it.  
  
"Hello? Oh, hi, Giles.... Yeah, I'm good... Xander's good, too, got in late last night..." Pause. "I drained 10 cc's of black goo... you got me Giles, I'm not that good... yes, Giles, I can see the trend, too..." Pause. "If the Council's feeling threatened by the dark energy I'm starting to generate, perhaps they could get off their collective asses and find out what's happening to me..." Pause. "Yeah, I know. Got their best people on it, never know when they might make a breakthrough..." Pause. "Thanks, Giles. Let me know if he knows anything..." Pause. "Talk to you later, then. Love you. Bye." She hung up the phone.  
  
Xander paused, then spoke. "How is the investigation going, Willow?"  
  
Willow was silent for a second.  
  
"They haven't found anything. They have no idea who's trying to destroy us. They can't use who I am as a clue, because they have no idea who I am. Why, Xander, they don't know anything at all. At least that's what they claim."  
  
"Willow, they must know something."  
  
"Yeah. That's what I think."  
  
"Has Giles found anything?"  
  
"No. He keeps trying, but to date he's just been banging his head against a wall. It's amazing how many high-brow people can solemnly tell you they have no clue."  
  
"What about the books?"  
  
"You mean the books I ruined?"  
  
Xander frowned. "Well, aren't there other copies?"  
  
"Yeah. And besides, I still have the complete collection in my head. Need to take care of that soon. But no, Xan. Once you're talking about demons above a certain, um, level, they don't show up in the standard books. They show up in the 'special' texts, but the Council somehow doesn't seem to have access to them."  
  
"That can't be right. They had information about Glory. I don't think she showed up in the standard books, either."  
  
"Bingo."  
  
"Wow. Can Giles do anything? Can he, you know, 'find' a copy of those books somewhere?"  
  
"No. Because the texts that don't exist are locked in a deep underground chamber, protected by armed guards and multiple layers of magical spells."  
  
"So you think they do know."  
  
"I don't know. I can't tell whether they know everything, something, or nothing, and want to ensure that they know nothing. The high-ranking council members who've even started digging have been terrified."  
  
"Council members terrified? They've hardly done much in real fights, but that doesn't sound like them."  
  
Willow paused to sip her tea. "A few weeks ago, I met an elderly lady who is one of the Council's chief librarians. She was really sweet, and promised me that 'we'd get to the bottom of this, dearie. You'll see.' She then went down to the library basement, presumably to study the scrolls that don't exist. She said she'd back in a few minutes. Two hours later, it was clear something was wrong. I never saw her again."  
  
"The Council didn't..." said Xander.  
  
"No. Didn't need to. Later that evening, Giles came in, looking really glum. I asked him what the problem was. He said he'd heard that the librarian had been hospitalized for 'stress,' after repeatedly screaming that she would kill herself before she risked her soul in that 'Noble House crap.' After that, the Council and coven members looked even more scared of me than they had been before."  
  
"Wow... Willow, I'm so sorry... but does 'Noble House' mean anything?"  
  
Willow paused and looked down. "Noble House. When used as an adjective, refers to some of the most powerful demon clans. Lots of dark power amongst them. Lots of fighting between them. Lots of ways for those in the fights to end up burning their soul, suffering unending fiery torment, or getting their dimension destroyed. Totally."  
  
A silence fell over the room. Willow drank her tea and looked out the window. Xander played with his remaining cereal. Finally, Xander broke the silence.  
  
"Willow, have you done any work on the investigation? Maybe you could use your magic to get access to the unreal scrolls."  
  
"What, violate a Council rule? No, that would be very bad. I'd get in a heap of trouble with my betters," said Willow sarcastically.  
  
"Willow, but..."  
  
"There's a more important reason. Every time I've even thought about the investigation seriously, I started thinking about Tara, and how precious she was, and how much I love her, and how they killed her, how they took her away from me, and what I want to do to them..." Her eyes briefly flashed black.  
  
Willow took a deep breath. "So you see, I haven't been taking an active role, Xander."  
  
* * *  
  
12:30 pm. Lunch time.  
  
"You didn't eat much," said Xander.  
  
"I'm usually not that hungry. My body's been tapping into all kinds of dark energy sources for months, now. Except for a few vital nutrients, they give me more than enough to keep me going. Plus create all that black slime I have to drain every night. You can see that I haven't lost any weight."  
  
Xander nodded. "Sounds like the magical breakfast of champions. At least you don't have to worry about getting hungry."  
  
"Actually, I kind of miss it," said Willow. "It was nice craving peanut butter ice cream. Just something else to remind me of how different I am now."  
  
Xander scowled. "Come on, Willow. Peanut butter ice cream Willow or magic- powered Willow. You're still the same. You know that, right?"  
  
Willow shook her head. "No. I look the same, Xander. I have all the same memories, all the same knowledge, all the same loves that I did before. But I'm not the same."  
  
"Will, you're just feeling sorry for yourself. Okay, not quite the same, given all you've been through. But people change all the time. That doesn't mean your somehow somebody else."  
  
"Really? Let me give you an analogy. You know the one about the glass teacup, right? It breaks and shatters into two big pieces, plus shards. You carefully glue it back together. It looks like the same teacup, but it's never really the same again. The seams will always be there."  
  
Xander sighed. "Willow, I know this has been hard for you. I know you have scars from all this, but..."  
  
"...But, that was just a starter. It wasn't the real analogy. The real analogy is that you take the teacup pieces and throw them into a blast furnace. Melt them down to liquid sand, then create a new teacup. No seams, and the same atoms, but is it really the same teacup? That's what happened to me, Xander."  
  
Xander looked at her. He walked to over to the table, and touched her face. Willow reflexively placed her hand over his.  
  
"You see? It's the same teacup, Willow. Maybe just made better."  
  
* * *  
  
3:30 p.m. Time for flipping between old reruns and the end of the "Barry Williams Show." Today's topic: "My secret sex diaries were stolen, and they're being made into an X-rated movie, starring me!"  
  
"Some things should just remain a secret," said Willow.  
  
"We're sitting here watching it, aren't we?" asked Xander.  
  
"Yeah," said Willow. "I feel an urge to grab a malt liquor and scratch myself."  
  
Xander doubled over with laughter. Willow smiled.  
  
Briefly looking back to the television, Willow seemed to think of something.  
  
"Can you turn it off, Xander?"  
  
"Sure, Will. What's on your mind?" The television clicked off.  
  
"Why didn't you use the chain I sent? Why haven't you read my diaries?"  
  
Xander looked at her. "That's a peachy change of topic, Will. One minute we're talking about downing some cold brewskies and the next we're talking about total destruction."  
  
Willow looked back at him. "Please answer the question. I'd really like to know."  
  
"I didn't use the chain because I had a ring-side seat for most of it," snapped Xander. "Sorry, Will. But there are certain things I don't want to relive. Besides, Dawn has given me the blow-by-blow recap so often it's practically gone into syndication. And your diaries - those are private to you. I wouldn't want to read them."  
  
"They aren't private to me any more," said Willow. "They describe parts of who I was, who I am. A big part of the reason I got into so much trouble was that I hid them for too long. I can't hide anymore, Xander. I don't want to."  
  
"I still don't think I should be reading your diaries, Willow."  
  
Willow sighed.  
  
"Fine. If you insist. Or better yet, why don't you just tell me the Cliff's Notes version rather than my having to read your secret diaries myself."  
  
Willow took a deep breath, and came close to Xander. "If you want. I've done this so often in the past two months, it's almost become routine." She took another deep breath. "I, Willow Rosenberg, spent the past years secretly hating myself. I desperately wanted to be someone else. I wanted to be powerful. I wanted to get bloody revenge on everyone who had ever hurt me, so much so it scared me. It made me hate myself even more. And then I started realizing the dark powers inside me, and..."  
  
Xander pulled away.  
  
"Xander, what are you doing? Don't you want to hear?"  
  
"Changed my mind."  
  
"Xander... it's important."  
  
Xander gasped. "Will... I can't do this. Not yet."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because."  
  
"Because, why?" Willow looked down. "Tell my why, Xander. Please."  
  
Xander turned away.  
  
"Is it because you're afraid of me, Xander?"  
  
"No! God, no. It's..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I was supposed to protect you and I didn't."  
  
"Oh," said Willow. She paused. "It wasn't your responsibility, you know."  
  
"It wasn't?"  
  
"No. It wasn't."  
  
The two friends were silent for a few moments.  
  
"Anything in particular about me in your diaries that I should know?" asked Xander.  
  
"Some schoolgirl crush stuff, but not much... oh. You remember that love spell you cast on Cordelia our senior year, that made everyone but Cordelia become obsessed with you? I felt really guilty after I tried to chop you to death with an ax after you wouldn't sleep with me."  
  
Xander laughed. "Yeah, well."  
  
He turned serious. "I guess we should have noticed that it was chopping and not just chasing, huh?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Pause. "Willow, um... something I've really wanted to know?"  
  
"What? Ask anything."  
  
"Did... I really save the world?"  
  
Willow carefully looked at him. "What do you want to hear, Xander? Do you want to think that you, Xander Harris, are a world-saving hero like Buffy? Or do you want to think that the world couldn't really have depended on a single person at the last minute?"  
  
Xander paused. "Just be honest with me, Willow."  
  
"The truth, Xander, is that I don't know. I was draining life energy pretty slowly when you showed up - when I collapsed, I'd only burned about an acre. But, the rate was increasing exponentially. Even so, my guess is that the Council, the coven, or whomever else would have had a few days to find me, get through my defenses, and put a bullet through my head before it was really too late. Of course, those were all pretty big 'ifs.'"  
  
"So... what you're saying is that you don't know, and that, really, no one can ever know," said Xander.  
  
Willow nodded.  
  
Xander seemed oddly satisfied. He smiled.  
  
"More Barry Williams?"  
  
Willow nodded. She smiled.  
  
* * *  
  
6:00 pm. Dinner time.  
  
"How is the patrolling going? Face anything really bad lately?" asked Willow, between mouthfuls of pizza.  
  
"You know, same old patrol. Not much has happened since you've been gone. Dust the vamps, chop up the scalies. More the latter lately, but hey it's not like I mind. Only good demon is one that's dead, as we'd say in the Army."  
  
Willow's eyes flashed. "I'm not going to tolerate that, Xander."  
  
Xander looked surprised, and somewhat taken aback. "Oh come on, Willow. You know the deal as well I do. If it doesn't breathe or has scales, it's almost always bad."  
  
"Really, Xander?" With that, Willow waved her hands, and a line of emerald scales appeared up and down her arms.  
  
Xander looked away. "That's a clever spell, Willow. I'm not sure about your trying to show solidarity with those things, but okay, you've made your point. I said almost, didn't I? You can reverse that spell now."  
  
Willow giggled coldly.  
  
"Come on, Will. You're making me uncomfortable. Reverse the spell."  
  
Willow said nothing.  
  
"Okay, I'm sorry. Clem is cool. I assume there are others like him, somewhere... Fine. Okay, even Angel has some good points... Fine, even New- Soul Spike. Come, on Will! Reverse it. Please!"  
  
"I can't reverse the spell, since there is no spell to reverse."  
  
"What?"  
  
"This is my real appearance, Xander. The spell was to hide the scales."  
  
"No... it can't be. It was just the end of that nightmare in your mind... can't be real..."  
  
"I really hate having to hide them, but most people just won't understand. They'd think it was some freaky body art thing. A real shame. Dawn thinks they're pretty. Don't you?"  
  
Xander looked shocked.  
  
"You don't seem to have an opinion, Xander. We'll fix that." Willow held out her arm. "Touch them."  
  
Xander did nothing.  
  
"Touch them. Now."  
  
Xander tentatively reached out his hand. Willow grabbed his hand, forced it to the back of her arm, and began rubbing his hand across her scales.  
  
Xander gasped. "They're not..."  
  
"Sharp? Slimy? Poisoned? Any of the above?"  
  
Xander nodded.  
  
"They're also not just glued on, are they, Xander?"  
  
Xander nodded.  
  
"So you see, Xander, you have a choice. You can keep your bigotry, or you can keep me."  
  
Xander gasped. "But... this makes no sense. We've seen hundreds of demons... and they were almost all bad... except Clem, and I always thought he was really a human who got enchanted... like Anya..."  
  
"That's like a security guard saying that all people are bad because the only people he sees are burglars. The 'good' demons aren't trying to kill us or destroy the world, which means the last place they want to be is Sunnyhell."  
  
"How many... of them... actually good? One percent, maybe?"  
  
Willow's eyes flashed. "Well, now. Looks like something good came out of my absorbing all those books after all. Especially the histories and travelogues. There are thousands of so-called demonic dimensions. Most of them have thousands to millions of whom you would consider to be evil nasty demons by definition. No one knows the total population, but it dwarfs the number of humans. And how many demons have we really seen in Sunnyhell? A few hundred? Yeah, okay, there are really nasty dimensions and really nasty demons outside of Sunnyhell, but damn it, Xander, watch the evening news sometime. Do the math."  
  
"Well - okay - but..."  
  
"Come on, Xander!" snapped Willow. "A few hours ago, you made a huge deal of trying to convince me that I'm the same girl I was before. Do you really believe that, Xander? Now that I'm showing you my true appearance? Do you?"  
  
"But... but..."  
  
"Damn it, Xander! Jessie died years ago, okay? I miss him, too, but come on. And he was killed by vamps. Vamps are like pre-programmed killing machines. He wasn't even killed by demons."  
  
Xander looked down. "How did you know..."  
  
"I'm sorry, Xander. But you were thinking it so loudly I couldn't help but hear it. I try to shut it out, but it doesn't always work."  
  
Xander looked away. "Okay."  
  
"And yes, Xander, I do have a soul. It's been split into pieces, completely melted down, and remade from the ground up, but I do have one. Most demons do."  
  
Xander slowly sat down at the table. "Is the double heart thing real, too?"  
  
Willow looked at him. "Not yet. Not fully. But it is happening. Growths are appearing on my heart, and new veins and arteries are appearing, too."  
  
Xander stared off into space for a few seconds. Then he seemed to make a decision. His face brightened.  
  
"Well, even with scales you're still the same Willow. I mean it. I want you to know that. Now, how about some ice cream?" He quickly got up from the table and strode over to the freezer.  
  
Willow softly sighed. [That went better than expected, but not as well as I'd hoped. At least he's made progress. And that will have to do - for today, anyway.] And with that, she turned her attention to several peanut butter scoops.  
  
* * *  
  
4:30 a.m., again. Willow Rosenberg was having a nightmare.  
  
Willow collapsed to the ground, as a rivulet of black oil flowed out of her mouth. She felt something inside her break, and felt herself losing consciousness. With her last bit of energy, she screamed...  
  
She woke up. Xander was holding her.  
  
"You always were my knight in shining armor," she whispered.  
  
* * *  
  
Next: "Under Your Spell" 


	4. Under Your Spell

4. Under Your Spell  
  
Special note: Those who wish to think of Tara as perfectly virtuous may not approve of this chapter. You have been warned.  
  
* * *  
  
"They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast." -- The Eagles, "Hotel California"  
  
Willow Rosenberg:  
  
I knew there was a problem when they kept telling me not to worry about going through Tara's things.  
  
I mean, I was finally ready. The therapy was going well. The black magic was under control. Yeah, the amount I had to drain every day was increasing, but it was still okay. And I'd been to Tara's grave. Several times. So, one morning, when I asked Buffy, Dawn and Xander about going through Tara's things, I expected a lot of support. You know, of the Isn't It Great You're Healing kind.  
  
Instead, I got three sudden gasps, and a gulping noise from Xander. Then I got several minutes on how I shouldn't worry about it, how I shouldn't push myself too hard, how it would be best if I wait until I'm really ready.  
  
I'm really ready now, I said.  
  
Are you sure? - asked Buffy. Really, really sure? - asked Dawn.  
  
Yes, I said. I was starting to be annoyed. Actually, I think I'd better get started. Right now, I said. So I charged out of the kitchen and up the staircase, into the room we had shared together.  
  
So here I am. In the room we shared.  
  
I hear a slight commotion behind me. It seems that Buffy and Dawn want to charge after me, and that Xander is holding them back.  
  
She has to know sometime, he says. Perhaps it's best if she learns the truth now.  
  
A chill goes through my body. What "truth?"  
  
I begin opening cabinets and going through Tara's possessions. I had expected this to be a very emotional experience, as I slowly looked over her things and remembered their owner. But right now, all I am feeling is fear.  
  
I run through her clothes, jewelry, and books, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I don't find anything. Taking a deep breath, I open her box of magical supplies. At first glance, everything seems to be okay. But, I know from hard experience that if there is something wrong, I'll find it in the box. So I dump the supplies onto the floor, and run through the contents. Again, nothing.  
  
I check the box. Again, nothing. But then, I run my hand around the box lining. I feel a lump. I pull apart the lining, and a small object falls into the box.  
  
A charm. A lock of her hair, a lock of my hair, and several magical herbs all tied together with a red ribbon.  
  
A love charm. Oh, Goddess...  
  
It can't be. I loved her, still love her, so much... it can't be.  
  
No, Willow, for the next few seconds you have to be strong. Slowly, with shaking hands, and tears streaming down my face, I pull apart the ribbon. Hair and herbs spray into the box. The charm is broken.  
  
I drop to my knees, bury my face in the bed covers, and begin to cry. My love is gone. Really gone.  
  
Wait. I still love her. As much as ever, it seems.  
  
I quickly look at the ribbon and the herbs. The herbs, the amount of hair, and the knots binding them are weak. Very weak. I can't help being almost ashamed that Tara, of all people, would have made such an amateur charm. Taking my power into account, it might have made me feel a little extra warm and fuzzy towards her. Maybe. On a good day.  
  
Or perhaps it was a charm made by someone who was having second thoughts. Who wanted to stop, knew the terrible thing she was doing, but couldn't quite pull back.  
  
I look again at the ribbon. It had been frayed pretty badly. It looked like she was trying to break it. She almost succeeded. But again, she couldn't summon the courage to destroy the charm.  
  
Did you hide from me, too, Tara? Did you have your own weaknesses, your own self-hatred? Did my light hide her own darkness?  
  
Yes, love. You did. You tried to make me love you, when all that took was you. Then you hid your betrayal from me, even when you knew my love for you was real, because you couldn't face me. You couldn't even destroy the charm once and for all. You almost did, but that doesn't count.  
  
You couldn't get over the shard of doubt and self-hate. You couldn't face yourself.  
  
This is a lot worse than making you forget an argument with me, Tara.  
  
If only you were here, you'd have a lot to apologize for. You'd have a lot to make up for. You would need to get some serious help. And I - I would have to break up with you. At least for a while. Like you did with me. But I'd be here for you. We all would.  
  
But you're not. So I forgive you, my love. I love you. I always will. And my love has nothing to do with a charm. I want you to know that.  
  
May you finally find happiness and comfort, lover. Please, Goddess, forgive her. My girl was a good woman. The best. Please let her be at peace.  
  
I slowly stand up and wipe the tears off. I slowly exit the room, closing the door gently behind me. Another day, very soon, I will return to go through Tara's things. Properly, gently, like she deserves.  
  
But for now, I need to be alone.  
  
* * *  
  
Next: "Accounts Payable" 


	5. Accounts Payable

5. Accounts Payable  
  
9 am. Willow Rosenberg had an errand to run that she wasn't looking forward to. Not in the least. But, it needed to be done.  
  
She took a deep breath and pushed in the door to the Magic Box. As the bells over the door rang, she heard an unusually cheery voice. "Welcome to the Magic Box! Is there anything I can help you find that you'd like to spend a great deal of money on? Why just today we have a special on gold... oh." The voice became less cheery. "Did you want something, Willow?"  
  
"Yes... um... I'm here to talk about the debt I owe you for trashing the Magic Box."  
  
Anya walked over to her, stiffly. "Well, it's about time. Past time, even. High time for you to start taking responsibility for your actions. It's going to take you a long time to work off all the damage you did, and you can start right now."  
  
Willow gulped and nodded. "I'm here to pay you for the damage."  
  
Anya looked shocked. "Directly? You mean, you just think you're just going to give me money, instead of giving me years of hard sweatshop-like labor?"  
  
Willow nodded. "Yup, that's the plan." She opened her purse.  
  
"Are you joking? It's not funny. Do you know how much damage you did?" yelled Anya. "Those books alone were worth over a hundred thousand dollars. Throw in the destroyed magical supplies and damage to the Magic Box, and it must be almost three hundred thousand dollars!"  
  
Willow appeared non-responsive to Anya's outburst, and continued rummaging through her purse. "That's about what I thought," she said, softly.  
  
"What, do you just think you're going to write a check, and everything's going to be all hunky dory? Unless you robbed a bank recently, missy, I don't think so."  
  
Willow calmly pulled a sealed envelope out of her purse.  
  
"I think this should cover it, and then some." She handed the envelope to Anya. "Be very careful opening it."  
  
Anya took the envelope. It rattled, feeling like it was filled with small pebbles. She sighed, carefully opened a corner of the envelope, and spilled a few of the contents on one of the remaining counters.  
  
Then she gasped. Diamonds. Not little ones, either, but big ones, at least five carats in size, maybe more, all appearing perfectly flawless.  
  
"You did!" she shouted. "Oh, my God. You did rob a bank!"  
  
"I did not steal them, Anya."  
  
"You did," continued Anya. "Okay, maybe not a bank. Maybe a jewelry store, or maybe you knocked over De Beers, and..."  
  
"Anya, be quiet." Willow's eyes flashed black.  
  
Anya gasped quietly. "Well, then missy, where did you get these?"  
  
"I make them."  
  
"You make diamonds? Oh, come on. The amount of heat and pressure you'd have to apply would be immense. No human could summon enough power to do it, only a really powerful demon... oh..."  
  
"My therapists in England had me start making them. They help me burn off a lot of dark energy, and they teach me control. Each one takes hours to make. First I forge the crystal, then cut and polish it."  
  
"Oh." Anya's capitalist desires suddenly cut back in. She eagerly began counting the diamonds.  
  
"There should be over a half million dollars worth of diamonds in that envelope," said Willow. "I think that should be enough."  
  
"Indeed. Paid in full!" said Anya, cheerily.  
  
Willow watched her count for a few seconds. Than she opened her mouth to speak.  
  
"Hey, Anya?" The vengeance demon looked up at her, slightly annoyed to be distracted from her counting her newfound wealth.  
  
"How are things going, you know? Haven't had much of chance to talk to you, since... well, in a long time."  
  
"Fine," she said. "Just fine. Especially now. I'll start out by reordering a new set of dark magic books, and from there, may be a new set of crystal display cases, and..."  
  
"Oh, yeah, great about the Magic Box. But how else are things going? For example, how are things going between you and Xander?"  
  
Anya stared at her for a second. Her eyes narrowed. "Well, I wouldn't know. I'm not the one who's been sleeping with him for the past two nights."  
  
Willow coughed. "Anya... you don't think... okay, we've been in the same bed, but he's just been holding me, especially when I have nightmares. We aren't..."  
  
"Oh, come on. You two must have been rolling around like rabid weasels. I always knew you'd end up together. I just knew it."  
  
Willow shook her head. Anya looked surprised. "Anya... there's nothing between us. There hasn't been in years. There never really was, actually."  
  
"Please. I know you love him."  
  
Willow nodded. "That's true. I do love him. But the truth is that I love him like he's the brother I never had."  
  
Anya looked skeptical. "Really? You love him like a brother? Right."  
  
"Yeah, okay, I had a crush on him when I younger. But it was more expectations than anything else. I thought he would just naturally be who I would marry, have kids with, and live with in nice little bungalow with a white picket fence. Things change."  
  
Anya looked a bit less skeptical.  
  
"Besides, at this point - I'm still bisexual, but I'm really leaning more towards women at this point. Especially after Tara. And - what I have with Xander now is so special, that it would almost ruin it if I had sex with him. Seriously, Anya. You don't have to be jealous. I'm far more likely to make with the smoochies with Buffy than with Xander." She smiled.  
  
Anya seemed relieved, and decided to bolster her relief. "Yes. Of course! Buffy got us to England by casting a vengeance wish on you. How could I have forgotten? That means something," she said brightly.  
  
Willow tensed. She nodded, and her eyes blackened slightly. "I know. I really don't want to think about that right now. I... just can't handle that, what it might mean, with everything else going on."  
  
Anya realized it was time to change the subject. "Right. Well, anyway, things haven't changed much between Xander and myself, other than that I'm accepting the fact that maybe I don't want his heart to explode or his intestines to rot."  
  
Willow made a tentative smile. "That's progress."  
  
"Progress? Progress would be for him to get down on his knees, beg for forgiveness, and pack me off to Vegas to marry me in a Quickie Wed with a Velvet Elvis as preacher. That would be progress."  
  
Willow's eyes narrowed. "Which he hasn't done."  
  
"Him? Hah! He's still making mooney-eyed faces at me. A few times he's even asked me out on a coffee date. A coffee date! Willow, we spent years sleeping together, I committed to spending my life with him, and he wants to pretend like it never happened and start again from nothing. I can't do that, Willow."  
  
Willow nods. "No. You're right. You don't deserve that."  
  
"Darn tooting, I don't."  
  
"You do know why he didn't marry you, right?"  
  
Anya nods. "Yeah, and if I really think about it, I know he thinks he's doing it for me. He thinks that no matter what, he's destined to turn into a total loser like his father, and at some point lose control and beat me to death with a saucepan in his lower-class loser frustration."  
  
"I know," said Willow. "I don't understand. He'd never really do that."  
  
Anya laughs. "Darn tooting. First of all, there's no way he can beat a vengeance demon to death with a saucepan of all things. Geez."  
  
"Yeah. I'd hoped he'd started to get some self-confidence. You know, savior of the world, and all that."  
  
Anya nodded. "Oh, he's told us the story over and over. If I hear 'yellow crayon' one more time..."  
  
"It was blue," said Willow.  
  
Anya snickered. "Well, whatever color, I'm going to cram a Crayola jumbo box up his derriere."  
  
Willow smiled.  
  
Anya sighed. "He just talks about it constantly to hide his insecurities."  
  
Willow nodded. "You're right about that. I'll try to see what I can do. It will take time, though."  
  
Anya nodded. "So how have you been, Miss back from the brink?"  
  
Willow sighed. "Better than might be expected, I suppose."  
  
Anya raised an eyebrow. "Appropriately sorry for your actions?"  
  
"Absolutely. I had to pass written, oral, and thought-probe exams to demonstrate that I was appropriately remorseful. I've become the sorry- ness champion. Totally."  
  
Anya grinned. "So you're really sorry that you skinned and burned Warren and killed Rack, then?"  
  
Willow gasped.  
  
"Really? Tell me the truth."  
  
Willow furtively looked around the room. Then she whispered, "I feel really terrible about it. I feel so much guilt that no matter what I do, I can't feel remorse for those two murders, other than feeling bad that it wasn't my place to kill and torture them, which isn't that much. No matter how hard I try."  
  
Anya laughed. "Well. You really are the sorry-ness champion, then. If you had said you felt really remorseful for Warren and Rack, I would have known you were lying."  
  
Willow looked down and bit her lip. "The rest of it, though... I tried to kill all my friends... I tried to end the world, Anya. I know it wasn't technically my fault, that I was poisoned, but even so... hard to look in the mirror after that."  
  
Anya looked at the witch softly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Unrestricted vengeance. Not what it's cracked up to be."  
  
Willow looked at her. "What do you mean? Aren't you back to being the underworld's number-one ranked vengeance demon?"  
  
Anya sighed. It was her turn to look around the Magic Box furtively. "No. I... well, honestly, Willow, I hate it. I'm tired of wreaking havoc on people who don't really deserve it. Yes, they've been slime. But only sometimes. And some of these women who call on me - God, Willow. I mean, if they want the source of their pain, they should try looking in a mirror some time. And what they want me to do - I try to limit it if I can. Like this one woman wished that the guy who dumped her was a frog - I made him French. Other times, I suddenly feign deafness. For the past few weeks I've just turned my cell phone off altogether, and taken off my talisman. I've been pretending to be sick, but I can only keep it up a little longer. I dread what will happen when I have to put it back on, and face D'Hoffryn."  
  
Willow nods.  
  
"I mean - I spent a thousand years thinking what I was doing was justice. But I just don't think it is anymore." She pulled Willow close and whispered in her ear. "I think that D'Hoffryn and his inner circle secretly worships evil, and they've just been using me as their tool."  
  
Willow nods. "Yeah," she says softly, "I think that's right. Is there anyway you can get out of it?"  
  
Anya nods. "I hope so. Most of the vengeance demons don't want anything to do with me anymore, but I still have a few friends. I've heard that D'Hoffryn has been asked about, uh, possibly transferring a demon or two to other masters. If that definitely happens, I'll beg him to let me be the one who is transferred, and I'm hoping he'll say yes rather than kill me. Hopefully, he will, even though I know he is completely disappointed and fed up with me, right now."  
  
Willow nods. "You think he'll do that? Transfer you?"  
  
"Yes. There's a very good chance he'll do that. Word is that a Noble House demon wants a new messenger, and wants D'Hoffryn to provide her with one."  
  
Willow was taken aback. "Noble House?" she gasped.  
  
"Oh, so you know about them, do you? Yeah, if it's a Noble House demon it's an offer D'Hoffryn won't be able to refuse. If he says yes, he gets a ton of money or dimensional real estate or new powers or whatever the Big One is offering. He'll also get rid of a big headache if he gives up me. If he says no, well... he won't say no." Anya shuddered.  
  
"Sounds scary. Are you sure you'd rather do that?"  
  
"Yup. I'd much rather be a messenger girl than a rip-out-peoples'-hearts girl. And I don't have another choice. I can't just quit - D'Hoffryn would kill me. Besides, sometimes messenger vassals even get to handle money! Wouldn't that be great?"  
  
"Well, then. Good luck. Let me know if there's anything I can do."  
  
Anya seemed surprisingly excited about Willow's remark. "Would you? In a few weeks, if I ask you, could you summon D'Hoffryn and tell him that I'd make a really great messenger girl for the Big One? He really likes you, you know. He was very impressed with your skinning and burning of Warren. Has an artistic rendering on his wall, apparently."  
  
Willow gasped. "But... but, I don't want to be a vengeance demon..."  
  
"Oh, don't worry about that. He knows you don't, but he still hopes that one day you'll change your mind. That should make him very friendly towards you, so he might actually listen."  
  
Willow took in a gulp of air, and nodded. "Well, then. Sure, why not?"  
  
"Thank you," said Anya.  
  
For a few seconds, Willow and Anya said nothing. Then, Willow looked down, and began to speak, but quickly closed her mouth.  
  
"What did you say?" asked Anya.  
  
"Well, uh... it's really nothing, but maybe you might have an idea as a centuries-old vengeance demon, and ..."  
  
"Spit it out," said Anya.  
  
"Uh... do you have any idea who my real parents are?"  
  
Anya gasped quietly. "No, not exactly - nothing specific anyway."  
  
Willow looked up. "What do you know that isn't specific, Anya?"  
  
"I'm not sure how much I can tell you - things could be very dangerous..."  
  
"Please, Anya?"  
  
"Well, okay." She pulled Willow closer and began to whisper. "I don't know specifically who your natural parents are. But, I do know that some of the more powerful 'pure-line' demons routinely transform their newborn children into less powerful demons or humans. It's done both to hide the child from the demons' enemies and because the more powerful races of demons take centuries to mature on their own. I mean, a twenty-year old hydra is still practically an infant."  
  
"I'm not sure I understand."  
  
"Right. Well, suppose I transformed infant you from a hydra into a human. I hide you with an all-American patriotic capitalist family, who raises you. In twenty to thirty years time, you mature physically and mentally, which is the really important thing. Then, when you're all grown up, I come find you, tell you who you really are, turn you back into a hydra, and poof! You're an already-grown hydra, able to protect herself and ready to fulfill her clan duties."  
  
Willow gasped and slumped forward slightly. "Wow. This is a lot to take in. But there's still some stuff I don't understand. Isn't it risky for the transformed child? What if the child is discovered? And wouldn't the adjustment be really hard? I mean, if someone walked up to me and said, 'hi there, I'm your real mom and I'm a big scaly hydra and so are you,' I'd freak. Well, I wouldn't so much, because, you know, but you know what I mean. Right?"  
  
Anya nodded. "It is risky, and it is very difficult on the child. But it's a lot better than the alternatives. The magical dimensions are usually either hell dimensions in the worst sense of the word, or feudal societies with lots of fighting warlords. Think Japan in the warring states period. Now that was a great time for vengeance. Why, I did some of my best work during that time. Like one time (chuckle), I..."  
  
Willow frowned.  
  
"Right. Well, anyway, a feudal society is really dangerous for a demon baby. Especially one that takes twenty years to say its first word, and three hundred years to mature."  
  
"Oh," said Willow. She nodded. "I... I really need to let this sink in. But Anya, do you have anything more specific? Like, even what kind of demon I am?"  
  
Willow rolled up her shirtsleeve, and rubbed her hand along her now exposed arm. A row of neat emerald scales appeared on the back of her arm, softly glinting under the Magic Box's incandescent lights. "Do you recognize these?"  
  
Anya carefully looked at the scales, and traced them. She noted the intricate beveling on the edges of the scales. A flash of recognition appeared on her face, which she quickly suppressed.  
  
"Do you recognize something?" asked Willow.  
  
"No. Thought I did for a second, but no. Those are definitely scales from one of the more powerful races of demons, but you knew that already. Within those races, these scales are quite common, I'm afraid. You could be a balron, a hydra, or a dragon, for example."  
  
"Oh. That's too bad." Willow made an effort to look disappointed. Her mind carefully noted that Anya was hiding something. "I have to go now. Thanks, Anya."  
  
"Thank you for the diamonds," said Anya, cheerily. "And for everything. Bye!"  
  
Willow quietly walked out of the Magic Box, in something of a slight daze. The door softly closed behind her. The second she heard the door click, Anya gave a sigh of relief.  
  
* * *  
  
Anyanka:  
  
That was close. She can't know the truth. How can she? There are so few possibilities for her clan, and there's so much going on with them, and she'd attract so much attention, that she'd be lost forever within hours of finding out.  
  
After all, there are only five small Noble House clans. Five warring clans.  
  
Hard to believe that Willow Rosenberg, of all people, is a Noble House demon. Then again, if I don't let the mousy face she puts on get in the way, the girl is a total fireball. I still have a few scars to prove it. And of course, all this lovely glittering wealth. It's not that much of a stretch, come to think of it.  
  
Still though, what a story! Too bad I can't tell anyone, though, or I might end up burned and eaten alive over a thousand years of unbearable torment. D'Hoffryn would be thrilled to know that his hot new prospect is a Noble House demon - he'd have dreams of smashing vengeance records for months. And Halfrek would just die with excitement. She'd just have to tell all her friends, and some of her non-friends. She always was such a little gossip.  
  
Wait a minute, wait a minute, gossip... that rings a bell...  
  
Yes! I remember now. Two decades ago, when a wildly giddy Halfrek burst into my quarters, just having to tell me a really juicy tidbit. "News of the century," Halfrek gushed. "You'll never believe who just gave birth to a daughter!"  
  
That means Willow could be the daughter of...  
  
The realization almost drops me to the floor. I have to grab the counter to steady myself.  
  
No. That can't be right. She's famous for keeping all of her affairs tightly controlled. And Halfrek had gushed that "the Ice Queen totally melted over her new baby girl." She couldn't possibly have let her daughter be sent to Sunnydale. Not on top of the most dangerous hellmouth in this dimension. It would be insane.  
  
But then... the last time I managed to talk to her, Halfrek said the Big One wanting a new vassal was asking about a "vengeance demon who was tired of vengeance, and who was good at finances and management." Halfrek said the demon described me exactly - it was uncanny. Could the Ice Queen, of all demons, be the one looking for a new vassal? Does she know that I know Willow? Is she getting ready to reclaim Willow using me as a contact?  
  
My mind reels with the possibilities. But, I soon push them away. I just have to wait. After all, I can't just call up a Noble House demon.  
  
Besides, I have half a million in diamonds to count and somehow trade. Good thing most of my dealers operate under a "don't ask, don't tell" policy when it comes to how they get paid. So, then, where should I put the new crystal cabinets?  
  
* * *  
  
Next: "What I Did For Love" 


End file.
